DANCE OFF!

I’m not entirely sure when this became a lost art, nor when the morally adrift masses that the ignorant call “Society” deemed this ancient ritual redundant. I find it disgusting that I challenged a 19 year old civvy to a dance-off this weekend and she didn’t have a clue about what one was. The travesty that resulted was painful to behold - it was like calling Mohammed Ali (before he got the shakes) into the ring to punch a kitten in the face. It just wasn’t cricket.

Executed correctly, a dance-off is a beautiful way to underline humanity’s mastery of music, form, style and, in extremis, Kung Fu. It can be a mating ritual, a non-violent duel or simply a celebration. It’s especially useful when dealing with lairy women when a swift punch in the ovaries is socially unacceptable. I found reason to extend the challenge after being told, whilst at a party, that the young lady in question “Fancies herself as a bit of a dancer.” Sensing combat I fell into a fighting stance and approached her. A mate of mine, wise in such matters, described her as a Ukrainian child prostitute and to be fair he wasn’t far off, but she had a nice arrse and I revelled in the promise of sparring youth against experience.

The dance-off equivalent of slapping your adversary around the fizzer with an iron gauntlet is to look her slowly from toe to head, nod slightly and declare “Dance Off.” At this point the bar will usually fall into awed silence and your second will detail the rules:

2 songs each, only the first 30 seconds from each song will be played
3 Genres – 80’s popular, 70’s funkdisco or early 90’s Wigger Hip Hop. NO Boy Bands.
The independent adjudicator is then usually named. Tradition dictates that it should be the Bride/Groom, Senior Man present, oldest Chelsea Pensioner or the young child with leukaemia for which the charity disco is being held.
The second then announces a 10-minute period in which the protagonists must choose their songs and warm up/rehearse as required. In hotels they are obliged to provide red and blue corner warm up rooms if requested. They are allowed to use the monitor headsets on the disco system to ensure they have chosen wisely.

At the allotted time the pugilists move to the dance floor. Ladies should always have the chance to go first.

My jailbait oppo decided to lead with “Girls Just Wanna have fun” a jaunty number with a low technical weighting but which, if well executed, can be a hit with the judges. Unfortunately this lapdancing Lolita failed to rise to the occasion and simply bounced and wiggled up and down the dance floor. The amateur had exposed her jugular to me and I closed in for the kill.

I lead with “Wild Boys” by Duran Duran. Moderate technical difficulty and always a controversial choice. If done half-heartedly and without a complete belief in one’s sexuality it leaves the audience thinking you’ve gone a little bit Brighton and they start to worry that you’ll finish with a Naked balloon dance version of “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me” by your boy, George.
Luckily I nail it. Two lateral Hand-Jives followed by a retreat to the rear of the dance floor and culminating in the classic double-knee slide with devil rock-salute across the entire length of the floor. Little miss RodJaneandFreddy started to wonder what she had gotten herself into by this point.

Instead of upping her game, she chokes. She stutters through Tiffany’s epoch defining “I Think we’re Alone Now” with a self-consciously smiling squaddie 2 step. All the while the largely military crowd are baying for her 19 year old blood. The disgust is palpable. Not only do I have to step up and brush this young pretender from the plate with the contempt she deserves, but my coup de grace must be executed in a style worthy of the greatest Dance-Off traditions. The true Dance-Off is not sullied by the ineptitudes of the unworthy – my dance off master, Tim V, taught me that.

I choose Nina’s sublime “99 Red Balloons”

Do not underestimate the difficulty of this song, it is the Miyagi-san Crane-Kick of the modern Dance-Off. Remember, we only have 30 seconds and almost 25 seconds of the intro are her talking about balloons. To pull this off I must be focussed and have my props prepared.

I kneel before the DJ, back to the crowd. As Nina’s words drift across the dry ice, I unravel the red sash I have in my hands, straight out in front of me like a Samurai preparing for his final battle. I’m in my ceremonial Blues uniform so the impact is doubled as I tie the sash in a neat Kamikaze Bandana around my head. All in tune to Nina’s words. Still kneeling, I bend back slowly so that my head touches the ground. I wind my arms out straight and as she fades “99 Red Balloons Go By….” into silence, I flick upright and strike a pose. I have been dancing to no beat now for nearly 25 seconds. The audience is silent.

The finale comes as the beat kicks in, I run, only seconds are left, I jump forward and up, drop my shoulder and execute a Dojo-perfect Aikido shoulder roll that leaves me on the final beat, upright and in a Travolta disco pose. The crowd goes wild, the Dance Off has been taken to a whole new level.

This summer, take the word and spread it – be responsible for the renaissance of a nearly dead art form. Teach those civvies how to do it at wedding receptions, Bar Mitzvahs, christenings and barbecues. Remember the Bushido of Dance-Off and remember…

There Can Be Only One.

 

I am reknowned for my inability to dance and am simply crap at it. I have the rythm of a retard and the beat of a man being crucified.

This is until I have beer inside me and I turn into the most hip groovy mover under the spotlights.......albeit without rythm....

I struggle to keep my clothes on when drunk and dancing and more than once Ive cleared a dancefloor by doing bollocky starjumps and squat thrusts to the tune of some techno tripe.

One time in particular me and the frau had been out for some scoff and ended up in town afterwards....... I was bordering on being sober / drunk and the night could have gone either way.

1. Get rendered, wander off and have her sulk with me for days
2. Stay sober and get her plastered enough for utter filth later.

She wanted to dance, she knew full well I couldn't and had the intention of humilating me..... Little did she know, I was shotgunnign JD chasers with my pints of wifebeater.

As she led me by the had to the dance floor I began to cringe as the whiskey hadn't begun to work and the squaddie two step was performed.

I could tell she was embarrased and felt uncomfortable with my complete inabilty to dance. Her embarrassment was about to reach new depth as at that moment Drunkeness hit and Dr Travolta came out to play.

In an instant I was a dancing lovegod... I vaguely remember moving my hands over my eyes like Travolta in Pulp Fiction..... this continued and she began to cringe, folk were making there way off the dancefloor as the drunken, now semi naked lout continued to peel his clothes off.

She was bright red and under her breath was muttering 'behave you dick'

As a finale I looked lovingly into her her eyes, smiled and yelled 'Klinnnnssmmaaaann' and dived about thirty feet to my right landing in a heap on a soaking wet dancefloor.

When i stood up she was gone

 

good effort chaps!

I only wish I have the same dancefloor prowess

"err boss you dance like a gay robot"

 

No No No No No

You're missing the point. MC Hammer couldn't dance, look how much money and adulation he got at the time. Michael Jackson....OK, bad example. Thake that - bunch of nonces, but even that tw@t with the dreads got more action than I got last year - all because of dancing.

It's not the rhythm or prowess of your dancing that matters, in fact, who wants to be GOOD at dancing? it's the fact that you're doing it that matters, you're saying to the world: "YES! God gave me this disability but I'm still cracking on. No one will break my will and by god woman, I will dance like a callipered, palsied deaf man attached to a 16/24 generator until you agree to sh@g me!"

Tom Jones has been singing like a gut-shot hippo and doing the squaddie two step for decades and he has had more hairy kebab than I have had extras. Women respond to someone who just doesn't give a fcuk what people think. Chr1st, the Naafi Bar is electronic testament to the fact. I can't dance for toffee but no other fcuker knows that. There are three rules in life:

Don't invade Russia in the winter
Dance like no-one is watching
Fcuk like everyone is watching.

I've said it before and I'll say it again - attack that dance floor like you're a Londonderry riot dog and the ladies will love it.

Identify that tw@t at work who really winds you up, the one that keeps flirting with your wife/bird and challenge the fecker to a Dance-Off!! You'll destroy the man! You can use anything as a dance routine if you use your imagination. Examples:

GPMG load/unload/stoppage drills. OK you're doing them standing up, but done well to "Boogie Nights" this is a thing of beauty.

The Bonanza - lasso you're woman boy!

The Kata from Karate Kid 3

Re-enact the Final light sabre battle between Skywalker and Vader. Use the Force!

Uma/Travolta in Pulp Fiction

Invisible Rifle Drill or even better - rifle drill with a midget!

 

Why can't i delete my posts? IGS is going as slow as a sunshine bus full of p1ssed mongs and I may have pressed submit more than once as an order to the computer to bend it to my will.

 

Computers are evil

 

I have no mechanical,social,or driving skills
but feck this boy can dance!!!!!!.

From the Empire Ballroom Leicester Square to the Wigan Casino via the Goldmine Canvey Island, The Hacienda, The Ministry of Sound and Dukes in Chelmsford, have all seen me in full throttle focused on the moment.

Many times I have heard the question "how does an ugly cnut like that pull such a fantastic bird"? they are answered in full when the jive/rock/trancedisco bunny that is Essexbob decides to make his move on the floor.

Those that are in the know watch for the tell tale signs that the dancefloor/podium/tabletop is about the receive the blessing that is Essexbob in motion:

a slight narrowing of the eyes as competition is weighed up.

flaring of the nostril when i catch the scent that tells me that my future dance partner has decided she should go out tonight commando style.

The it happens the god of dance inhabits my body and we soar. Women who only moments before were thinking " I would not let him touch me under sedation" now are attracted to me like iron filings to a magnet, they are mine to play with.

We all have one skill and this is mine.

 

Mods, feel free to delete this extraneous posts when you get round to it. I got angry at my computer and now she's refusing to talk to me (you just know it's a she)

 

gff

 

moist

 

I onced witnessed a dance off in Yates in Aldershot between the 1985 Disco Dancing Champ of the UK (A R Anglian L/Cpl) and some gay bloke. Funniest moment of my life.

 

Computer is going to get a smack if it doesn't start behaving

 

sorry

 

Err RTFQ I think we get the point now after your umpteen similar points

 

Sorry RTFQ, still not convinced no matter how many times your computer decides to say it. Do you honestly think you would help your chances to pull by dancing like a geography teacher at a 6th form disco?

I think if it has worked out for you it has probably been due to the judicious application of pity sex. Not that there's anything wrong with that per se, but is it healthy to make it a lifestyle?